Destination: Carcosa

[polymods]

✖ Carcosa

Ⅰ. THE TEMPLE
You can read all about your character's arrival in the game lore.
The island's harbour is full of other ships, although not a single one of them seems to actually have a human being aboard. (You could certainly try to steal one, but doing so is an exercise in futility - you will find that even if you set off into the ocean you will wind up right back in the harbour again after spending a few hours lost in the fog.) Beyond the harbour is a glittering city of glass and gold. Curving arches and sharp geometric lines are the hallmarks of the architecture - an art deco paradise that whispers of decadence and hope for the future.

The people who crowd the streets wear suits and hats, drop-waist dresses and furs. Their faces are all blank smiles. It's the roaring twenties, darling, why do you look so concerned?

If it is your first experience of the Endless Isles, you have access to the High Temple. Should you wish, you may also seek out the island's own temple as well, which is located inside the city, in a district mostly forgotten by the residents. Don’t worry - your feet will carry you there.

The building is not large, and it is old and neglected. It has a domed ceiling, with panels of glass crisscrossed with metal painted gold curving upward. Whatever fine pattern may have formed there is lost to time; the glass at the centerpoint of the dome is gone, letting in the smell of the sea.

There are rooms equipped with beds spreading out like a spiderweb from the middle of the building. The temple proper is of course in the exact center, below the broken dome. In the middle of this circular room you will find dead branches gathered together to make a vaguely humanoid shape. This crude figure has been haphazardly painted yellow. A slab of concrete sits in front of it. There is not much to explore here; it is very quiet.

Either temple is a good place to simply rest, or meet some of your fellow Travelers. The High Temple of course has the Temple Chef and its usual Guardians, Flock, and Lantern.

The Island Temple has its own Guardians, which are small, pale humanoids with perfectly blank faces and small antlers like young deer. They will leave you alone unless you try to meddle with the central room. Doing so will result in one of them approaching you, and you will find yourself falling unconscious on the floor.

---

Ⅱ. THE MASQUERADE
Through happenstance, you find yourself in an enormous ballroom. Low couches are dotted everywhere, and a live band plays somewhere at the end of the massive space. A long bar takes up one side of the room, bottles sparkling under the light cast from the many cut-glass chandeliers hanging overhead. Champagne flows freely, and the scent of gin pervades the air.

All of the attendees are wearing masks.

You're dressed for the occasion, of course - you will find yourself wearing something reminiscent of 1920s America, with a small yellow sigil of some sort pinned to your breast. Ask any of the guests about it and they will tell you, "ah, it's a secret." You too, of course, are wearing a mask. You did not pick this mask, but if you look in the mirror hung over the bar you will find that it nonetheless hints at some aspect of your personality.

Which would be all well and good, except that you can't take the bloody thing off.

Moving around the ballroom, you will discover that a few other people also have the yellow sigil pinned to their clothing. It probably shouldn't surprise you that these people are all other Travelers, equally unable to take their mask off.

No, you can't unmask until you share something with your new-found friend: a secret. A REAL one, the sort you'd never speak aloud.

Of course, you can choose not to share. If you choose that route, however, you'll find that the mask is fusing with your skin. Leave it on past midnight when the cries of "UNMASK! UNMASK!" begin, and it will simply become your new face for the duration of the month.

---

Ⅲ. THE PLAY
Maybe parties aren't your style. No fear, there's plenty more to do and see in such a wondrous city. There's a theatre - the Meliora Grand as a matter of fact - and perhaps you're just the sort of person who would like to take in the arts.

The theatre has plush seats, and fabulous electric sconces lining the wall. Once you take your seat you'll find yourself looking at the stage, where a blood-red velvet curtain hangs. The theatre doesn't seem to fill up - indeed, it really seems that there's only you and one or two other people there. Curious.


The lights go down and the curtain is drawn open, revealing... well. Not much.

There are two chairs on the stage, a table between them. On the table lays a pallid face: a mask. Just a mask. Why not go on up and take a closer look?

Should you choose to touch the mask, you will feel a deep urge to speak to whoever else is in the theatre. You will, in fact, feel the desire to act out some sort of emotional trauma with them. Perhaps they suddenly look like your mother, your father, a lover who left you. Why don't you tell them how you really feel?

Naturally, you can both just sit in awkward silence instead. You'll be waiting until the morning to be let out, if that's the case.

---

Ⅳ. LOST CARCOSA
CW: the undead.
You find yourself walking along the beach at night. Along the shore the cloud-waves break, and black stars rise above you.

You can't quite pinpoint when you realise you are no longer alone. Maybe there is only one other person on the beach with you, or perhaps a few; you move as one down the expanse of sand until you realise there is something laying up ahead of you.

There is a heap of yellow cloth there, dry and tattered with age. It smells faintly of spices. Nestled among it is a jewel-encrusted human skull. Its empty sockets compel you to sit down in the cool, bone-white sand, to sit and speak to those around you about loss.

Everyone has lost something important to them. A person, a thing, a place, an aspect of the self. Something that's gone and you're never getting back. The skull grins endlessly, endlessly, encouraging you to speak about something you may not have laid to rest.

You can resist this compulsion. Maybe you were never good at sharing. Refuse the skull's silent request and you may continue down along the beach, or perhaps head back the way you came. As you walk, however, you will notice that there is a fog rolling in. It comes in off the sea/sky, obscuring the beach until you can barely see.

It's a terribly handy cover for the corpses that are shambling out of the surf. Wet, bloated, with eyes that glow a dim gold, they head for you silently. They wish to drag you back with them, into the depths. Better hope you can outrun or outfight them.

Bonus: What's that? You want a Carcosa playlist? You've got it, babes!

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anders | dragon age | ota

[mewnifestos]

i. the harbour

[ All those empty ships look like a rather unbelievable opportunity, to Anders, who has more than once in his life entertained fantasies of stowing away to somewhere new to escape his present circumstances. He's not used to good fortune, though, and he's doing his best to look like nothing but a curious bystander, walking the docks and admiring the boats where they're moored.

Until he comes across someone else - who may be looking a little too curious of the unattended ships, themselves, or just doing in earnest what he's pretending at. ]

Any talent for sailing? [ He asks outright as he stops and leans against a salt-crusted wooden pillar of the dock, cheerful and - possibly - joking. ] I've got an inkling I might want to take it up, myself. Soon, even.

ii. the masquerade

[ It's a secret. Well, that's helpful. Anders' mask doesn't quite hide the downturn of his expression as he gravitates away from another less than forthcoming stranger. Fancy soirees like this one might still be new to him, but it was almost embarrassingly easy how quickly he'd ingratiated himself to the Commander's guests at that last, tense Grey Warden to-do compared to this.

He should be enjoying himself, though, he supposes - let someone else figure out all this mysterious nonsense. But the city makes him uneasy (too strange, too reminiscent of the one he's always seen in his dreams - that every mage has), and the shallow, tepid charm of the people here nags at him. But it also wouldn't be much like him to let curiosity go.

Grabbing a couple of glasses of champagne off a passing server's tray, he turns and slips through the crowd again. ]

You look like you could use it. [ He offers one to the next person he sees, only belatedly noting the matching sigil pinned to them, too. ] Oh! Look at that. We're twins. So, any luck figuring out what all this is about?

iii. lost carcosa

[ The beach is more familiar, standing on the edge of a seemingly endless body of water, staring into the distant horizon and feeling the immensity of the flat, impassable border it represents. Of course, he'd only felt that way about Lake Calenhad when he was young, too young to think he could ever swim so far as to reach that foggy Fereldan shore from Kinloch's little craggy scrap of island.

Eventually, he did, still half-terrified he'd falter and drown at the midpoint. But there's no shore in that hazy distance, and he doesn't like his chances anymore, besides.

Instead of daring the waters, Anders stoops to drag his fingers through the sand, searching for any flat shell or stone in reach. Can't exactly skip a rock on the waves, but tossing one in might still be somewhat cathartic. The scrap of yellow cloth he finds half-obscured by the sand, instead, is a puzzling thing - the very obvious remnants of some corpse it's attached to less so. He jerks back with a start, toppling over into the sand and probably making a sound a little too loud for the peaceful, quiet shoreline as he pedals back through it.

It only takes him a moment to realize it's not the shambling sort of corpse, though, and he lets out a somewhat embarrassed rush of breath. ]

Knickerweasels— I thought long walks on the beach were supposed to be pleasant.

iv. wildcard

[ happy to keep tdm cr or handwave brief meetings on the boat for scrywatch threads, otherwise feel free to hit me with something different! plot w/me @gravejuice or by pm. and prose or brackets are both fine, i'll follow suit. ]

( ii )

[dothelokimotion]

[ ah the sigil. loki hadn't paid much attention to it. he takes the glass of champagne with a polite nod. ]

Most likely marking their property.

[mewnifestos]

[ Ah, well, that's a rather grim take. Anders' skeptical expression is largely lost beneath his mask, but there's no shortage of the same in his tone. ]

Too bad for them I'm already spoken for.

[ Not that he'd ever consider himself anyone's property. But if he had to choose - well, the Wardens do sort of have dibs. Even if their parties are far drearier. ]

Who do you suppose 'they' are, anyway?

[dothelokimotion]

[ loki offers up a loose shrug. ]

Gods? Titans? Alien overlords?

[mewnifestos]

[ Well, at least one of those things sounds like something— Though the thought only draws a more amused skepticism from him. ]

Gods who encourage drinking and fancy parties? Clearly the Chantry has misled me all my life.

i

[unkindled_madness]

[Sephiroth's gaze is more a calculating one than an admiring one. They arrived here by ship, after a fashion; can they return the same way?

He wasn't expecting to be addressed, and certainly not in such a friendly tone. He'll reply, but his tone is considerably more reserved, even guarded.]

...no. But it's certainly worth the consideration.

[He doesn't take it for a joke. The reasons for asking seriously are too obvious.]

[mewnifestos]

Shame. I was hoping one of us would.

[ His tone is still light, as careless as the shrug he sketches where he's settled against the dock, turning back toward the moored row of ships. There's potential there, still, even if neither of them knows the rigging from the anchor. ]

Ah, well. Even if we could abscond with one of these ships, we'd still have no idea where we were going, would we?

[unkindled_madness]

[He's been on boats... How hard can it be?]

The people who typically sail them must navigate somehow.

[mewnifestos]

I've heard it's the stars they use to find their way.

[ Or perhaps that's just some absurd romantic notion he's absorbed from a book and simply decided must be truth. When you spend half your life locked away in a dark and stuffy tower, you get a lot of those ideas.

But he shrugs a shoulder again, tossing another amused glance at his new friend. ]

Though a compass probably does the trick a tad more reliably. Perhaps they all have some manner of navigation on board already?

iii lost carcosa

[nanban]

Hawks is more flying than walking; walking on sand is kind of annoying, after all. This way he keeps from having to deal with the annoying ordeal of the sand. He's a bit away on the shoreline from Anders, though even in the dark, he's got very good eyesight. He can see the mage ahead of him, though beyond that it gets trickier, what with the fog starting to creep in.

He hears Anders's startled cry, though, and speeds up. Hawks is known for being very fast; he moves from leisurely to quick, catching up in really just a moment. He's there just after Anders trips backward. He'll offer a hand if needed as he touches down near Anders on the sand.

"You okay?" he asks. Though he follows Anders's line of sight to...a corpse?! He doesn't jump, but he starts a bit and his eyes go wide. "Oh shit, is that what I think it is?"

[mewnifestos]

Anders is a little too preoccupied with the bejeweled corpse in the tattered yellow robe to notice anything off about the abruptly appearing stranger at his side. He'd been distantly aware of others wandering down the beach, as well (outside a city so large, it's hardly surprising), and it's easy to brush that off, too, as his own careless inattentiveness.

"Well, it isn't a party favor," he replies, as he dusts himself off, straightening up. He's far enough from the skeletal remains that he doesn't feel the need to spring right back to his feet, instead peering down at the skull in its faded robe - it has a curious draw.

"Poor sod probably washed up in a storm. ...After someone took him apart and redecorated a little."

[nanban]

Hawks lingers a bit away because listen, dead bodies? Yuck. But he's not actually going anywhere either. And at least this dude has a sense of humour about it. Hawks is skeeved out, but he's the same about making jokes.

"Well, I hope they fired that decorator," he answers right away. He inches a bit closer, wings fluffing in the cool air.

"You think this is related to that whole redemption shtick, or there's just like some pirate movie graveyard out there with shambling ocean skeletons?"

[mewnifestos]

"Shambling ocean skeletons would be new... Then again, maybe I just haven't spent enough time in Amaranthine," Anders replies, with less humor than he otherwise might have. But the weight on his mind no longer feels like the shock of finding some unfortunate soul's last lingering remains discarded on the beach. It feels... 

He shakes his head, pulling up his knees, the desire to stay sitting on the sand far greater than any instinct to get away. It's not as if whatever killed the shambles of a thing lying on the sand is likely to be around, still - the bones that remain are dry and half-buried, the cloak sun-bleached and torn. The only danger here is that pressing need to speak, and maybe not just to the stranger beside him. 

"I miss it there, already. Not even just the city, you know? Even the constant rain and the knee-deep mud around the Keep has a sort of nostalgic charm, now." Even if it's hardly been long at all. 

i;

[shapeshistory]

[ Jack supposes the one saving grace about this godforsaken place is that he's with Anne. Not currently, of course--but the fact that she's here, the fact that they're here together, it soothes a part of him he isn't sure needed to be calmed. He's changed into something other than his robes courtesy of sticky fingers and treading lightly in a shop.

It doesn't take him long to find the docks again: he's fully planning on coming back once he's taken as many valuables as he can and casting off. With docks and a harbour there's a sense of normalcy that washes over Jack, a sense of home despite the differences in temperature. Carcosa is a far cry from the sunny shores of Nassau, but the salt in the air is grounding the same in the same way as the simple sound of waves gives him a sense of peace. It's easier if Jack tells himself he's simply surveying the scene rather than admitting how rattled he feels about all of this, too.

His eyes are narrowed, index finger on his mouth, other arm folded across his chest, scrutinizing a small, rickety two person ship. When another man breaks the silence he turns his head and one brow lifts, a sharp quirk, dark eyes searching the other's face. Whatever it is he's looking for in the stranger, he seems to have found it, though his brow remains up. ]

Talent? My good man, it is both my solemn duty and extreme pleasure to inform you my expertise and prowess with a ship goes far beyond the single use of the word 'talent.'

[ There's a hint of a smile, dark eyes glittering with amusement, brow finally smoothing back to its' proper place as he looks the other over a second time. ]

[mewnifestos]

Well, aren't I lucky?

[ Anders' indulgent laugh is part relief, at least by half - but given his state of dress, he was almost worried he'd approached another local. Any amount of charm seems to be largely lost on them, much as they practice only bland, superficial cheer and fail to answer questions with anything approaching a genuinely helpful response. But there's a spark of scrutiny in this stranger's gaze that betrays him.

It doesn't exactly put him at ease, but it's a start. Out here, where the sound of the water and the distant horizon are almost enough to distract from the bizarre city of glass monoliths and strange electric lights, it's a little easier to breathe, in general. Which probably isn't the best of combinations, along with Anders' basic capacity for decision making and all these miraculously unattended boats, but here they are, anyway. 

With the same charming smile, he nods toward the ships lining the empty dock. ]

I don't suppose you're in the market for any crew, then? 

[shapeshistory]

[ It's Jack's turn to laugh, a light cross between a scoff and genuine amusement, a smile still across lips as he looks the other over. Had he been thinking this almost exactly? Yes. Absolutely. The laugh is still in the midst of fading as he speaks again. ]

Are you suggesting we take off in a skiff together? [ It's not a no. If anything, he seems further amused by it. ] Two of us, comrades on the sea, sailing along dark, uncharted waters for a glimpse of a possible future beyond this gilded city?

[ His gaze moves from the boat to the other, his brow still quirked. ] Piracy gets you hanged where I'm from. Short drop. Big crowd.

[mewnifestos]

Why not? I can already tell you'd be a fun one to get lost at sea with.

[ Anders shrugs, amusement bright in his gaze. There's something comfortably familiar in that joking suggestion, and he isn't deterred, even if the picture painted is a bit of an unlikely one.

Well. That first bit, anyway. ]

You get hanged for less, where I'm from. I say take your chances where you find them.

[ And if that involves a bit of rule-breaking here and there, so what? All the rules are made by self-righteous prigs in ivory towers, anyway. At least in his experience.

Straightening up, Anders takes a few steps further down the dock. Turning his back to the moored ships, he takes another look around - all quiet, still. ]

Besides, does it really count as stealing if no one's watching them, anyway? They're clearly not concerned about losing one or two.

ii

[nightschool]

[Witch.

One thing has remained the same in all this strangeness: that familiar little twist in his stomach, the shiver along his senses, when another creature draws near. But this is not the frozen brush and heavy, sumptuous scent of a wearh. This impression is bright and crisp across his awareness, a burst of color that ends with a tingle traversing down the knobs of his spine.

The feeling can only belong to one thing and his black-rimmed gaze roves over the party-goers, probing the overhanging cloud of cigarette smoke for the source. Ah, there it is--dark and feathered, roaming among the guests.

Maybe the witch will sense he's being observed, maybe he won't, but from his seat on one of the couches Kit--a study in black from his berry-studded mask to his shiny shoes (impressively made, he will say that)--watches his progress as he's watched many this night, one leg crossed over the other.]

[mewnifestos]

[ Being watched isn't a new feeling. He's spent years under the Templars' heavy gazes, and when that itch settles just there, high in the middle of his back, he does what he's always done, by painstakingly honed instinct— He pretends not to notice. He continues to mingle, letting the - decidedly unpleasant - sensation slide off him, as he distracts himself with more meaningless pleasantries and drink. 

Behind his mask, his curious gaze roves the crowd a little more deliberately, catches and lingers on passing strangers as they go. But none of them look his way for more than a moment. It's only by accident that he spies his audience, the purely incidental snag of his wandering eye on that veritable shadow of a man in the corner.

Well. At least he thinks that's the source of this prickly, watched feeling. Anders has no special sense of these things, in particular, and as much as these masks help to disguise his own wandering eye, they hinder the certainty of catching another's.

Not that it makes much of a difference. He approaches with the singular confidence of one who has rarely known shame, the edge of a flat smile on his lips. ]

I realize there's a lot to admire, but you could be a bit friendlier, if you're going to stare.

[nightschool]

[He assumes, of course, that he's marked and catalogued just the same at the same time, as effortlessly as he's been marking everyone else with a glimmer of the otherworldly to them. Witches have their ways of knowing, even if he doesn't know what about his kind stands out to theirs, merely that it does.

And he expects that to be the end of it--marking, mutual acknowledgement, and carrying on. He would much rather let the witch go about his business; watching, perhaps, where his efforts take him. Magic is their forte. If any creature should make inroads here, it would likely be a witch.

But he couldn't fail to notice when the witch in the feathered mask goes from circulating around the crowd to rounding on him.

Briefly, Kit considers abandoning his nearly-finished glass of some sweet-tasting liquor on the side table and retreating with the hope the witch will leave him be, but some vestige of sullen pride keeps him seated, pressing his back farther into the cushion. Inwardly bracing for whatever's to come, for much the same reason he'd resisted Hubbard's offer to install a witch in his household--ostensibly to care for the chores, in actuality to keep an eye on him. He'd believed so many stories about them were just inflated myths, but after her, and the firedrake--

Too late to change course now. A loudly chatting couple moves out of the way, accompanied by the clacking of the woman's pearl necklace, and the other creature steps out from behind them. The thinness in the smile might be the most familiar thing from home he's encountered thus far.

Adjusting for height, he lifts his chin, gaze landing first on the matching yellow sigil, then climbing; at this distance their eyes have no trouble locking on, reinforcing what he can already tell.]

I thought I was.

[Being friendly. At a distance. Politely ignoring one another, as incidents of shared spaces oft goes.]

[mewnifestos]

They don't say hello where you're from?

[ His amusement is light and - seemingly - honest, that edge momentarily fading from what of his expression is actually visible. He's more wary than ill-meaning, though, uncertain if he should be entertaining this stranger's apparent interest in him or high-tailing it out of here, disappearing into the crowd.

There's not much to garner from the partygoers without that squiggly little mark on their finery, though. And that leaves curiosity the more appealing avenue, unfortunately.

Anders sets his mostly empty glass aside as he helps himself to a seat on the other end of the couch. He leans back into the arm, turned conversationally toward the other man. ]

You'll have a lot more fun if you don't waste the whole party brooding in a corner, you know.

i.

[combatted]

[ He'd taken a boat out and had to swim back. Dick is soaking wet, his jacket still dripping, and yet he seems perfectly still, just sighing as he gazes out on the open ocean. No more chance of escape here than there was previously, and he's not keen to get his feet wet a second time. Ha, ha. ]

I hear you, [ he says, a little wearily. ] It's a great hobby.

[mewnifestos]

It probably beats a swim in these waters, eh?

[ From the looks of it, anyway. But upon realizing the stranger he's approached is absolutely soaking wet, his curiosity is piqued. Maybe he just fell off the dock, of course - or went for a dip further on, where the beach begins. But it still bears asking. ]

[combatted]

Oh, for sure.

[ He turns fully now, and offers a brief, wry smile, he doesn't think his state exactly hides what he's been doing. There's not an escape this way as much as there wasn't earlier, and at some point it becomes simple risk assessment. Does he want to die trying? Absolutely not. ]

Are you used to these kinds of boats?

[mewnifestos]

Used to them? Me? Oh no. I've certainly seen a few, of course, but I've only ever been out on the water in a dinky little canoe. And that was on a lake. Nothing like this.

[ Not for lack of trying, a time or two. But none of his escape attempts were ever so lucky. The only version of him that ever went sailing on the open sea was a rumor that he himself started, hoping to throw the Templars off his trail.

Anders shrugs, gesturing toward the moored ships. ]

Nor you, I imagine?